


Good Graces, Bad Influence

by slushieSkank



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: F/M, I wouldn't really call this romance in any form at all tbh., more like Tony the Talking Piece of Shit amirite, not really plot driven its just aimless murderdrabble I guess Idk, you have no fucking idea how many times I looped this song while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slushieSkank/pseuds/slushieSkank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She said, “Picture this: You and I, on a magic carpet ride, covering your living room floor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Graces, Bad Influence

**Author's Note:**

> http://grooveshark.com/s/Good+Graces+Bad+Influence/32djOc?src=5  
> because I'm filthy gross Padlock trash.  
> I will never cease writing Spill Canvas songfics you can't fucking stop me.

_She said, “Picture this: You and I, on a magic carpet ride, covering your living room floor.”_

            The afternoon was quiet. Only the two of them home. The others had gone for the day. He, seated on the couch, novel in hand (the cover read  _100 Years of Solitude_.) She, rested on the floor, back pressed to his shins, cloth in hand, needle darted busily in and out. It was calm, deceptively so, peaceful. The only sounds came from the quiet whisper of material, the steady, regular turning of a page at precise intervals, and, below that, the relentless ticking of his pulse, just strong enough against her shoulder blades that she could almost sense it rather than hear it.

            A thought, an idea. The corners of her mouth turned up to a Cheshire grin, hands lowered the partially-mended garment to the floor. She leaned forward, twisted around to regard him over her shoulder. He tucked a ribbon into his page, glanced to her with one brow quirked.

She said, _“Picture this: you and I, on a magic carpet ride, covering your living room floor.”_  
  
            A sly smile, he caught onto her intentions almost immediately, set the book on the end table as she stood, backed away from him across the floor. He stretched, laced his fingers above his head, leaned backward to crack vertebra.  
 _  
_He said, _“You bring out my terrible, it's oh, so wonderful. I can be the first-class passenger you're lookin' for.”_

He started toward her,  _“_ _I'm your number one, all-time fan.”_  
  
            The two of them embraced, pulled one another about the room in a stiff mockery of a dance. They both tried to lead simultaneously, faces twisted into hyena like grimaces, all pretense of fondness and affection gone.

_In my good graces, you're a bad influence._

            The dance quickly became a whirling cyclone of violence, blades of varying sizes produced from nowhere darted in and out, arcing brilliant sprays of crimson from whosever flesh they landed on. Harsh grunts, the impact of blows, the thunder of bodies thrown against furniture.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            All semblance of innocence has now fled, growls emerged from the both of them in kind. He struck for her, a hair too slow, and she pirouetted gracefully away, landing en pointe in the doorway to the kitchen. She grinned, and he snarled.

_A little mischievous, remain devious._

            Her eyes begged a challenge, and he was more than pleased to oblige. A bludgeoning force, he came to her like a freight train, shoulder to shoulder, one arm wrapped around her as an anaconda would, the other held between the two of them, coming to a stop only when her spine collided with the sink, upper torso thrown backwards at such a sharp angle she suffered minor whiplash. He pulled her away before she could recover, flung her limp form out as they resumed their waltz.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            Her grin returned as she broke away from him, rolled out to the end of his arm then slid her hand from his grasp, slammed unsteadily to the wall, a knife protruding from betwixt two ribs, buried up to the hilt. She glanced down to it, breathing ragged, and giggled, a wet and broken sound.

She trembled,  _“Take me now, knock me out, validate my filthy mouth, nurse my naughty back to life.”_

            He closed the distance between the two of them before anything more could pass, pinned her between his palms, attacked her slender throat with his mouth, more predatory bite than lovers kiss. Roses bloomed from below her skin, rolled out of small teeth marks, raced down the contours of the dermis to pool in the indentation of her collar bone.  
  
He said, _“You induce my episodes, crack my moral code, desperately delicious in your housewife glass life.”_

            Her claws tangled deeply into the thick of his hair, dragged down the back of his scalp, ripping fistfuls out. His arm drew back, then out like a piston, the grinding of bone on bone as he shattered her left glenohumeral joint, her wail a beautiful symphony against his ear drums as the limb became useless dead weight, dangled limply at her side.

_In my good graces, you're a bad influence._

            Even through indescribable pain, her reflexes are still instantaneous. The right hand came up, seized his arm before he could pull it away, twisted it at an angle so that he could actually hear the snap as his wrist broke with strength that belied the thinness of her form.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            A leg was lifted, then landed hard against his shin, the point of her stiletto dug deeply into the top of his foot, down until she punctured soft tissue, then ground hard. He tried pulling away, but her vice-like grip still held him fast, yanked his body forward, then released, only to wrap the remaining arm around him and gouge deeply into his back, tore furrows up, fertile land plowed and ready to be cultivated.

_A little mischievous, remain devious._

            He smashed his forehead into her nose, finally broke free, the two of them panted hard, circling one another. Faces bloodied, torn clothing and hair askew, but they're both delighted beyond words with this game. Hearts pounded in tandem with excitement, adrenaline pumped, made them giddy.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            He tucked his broken wrist behind his back, bent over at the torso in a bow as she extended her arm to him, palm up. His good hand came to grasp the delicate digits, planting a kiss on the heel, sweet and gentle.

_"I'm your number one, all-time fan. It would be my honour to get down with your open hand.”_

            The softness of the touch was over almost before the moment had even begun. Her fingers curled, pierced the tender flesh under his chin, raked outward, half jerked him off his feet. She darted aside, sent him careening into the enamel of the counter top.

_In my good graces, you're a bad influence._

            With a noise halfway between a screech and a hiss, he caught himself at the last second, jarred the broken bone, drew his sword with his off-hand, charged after her. He came upon her at the front door, delivered a kick to the back of her knee, sent her sprawling to the carpet.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            A dull thump of metal into fibers, the weapon buried three inches into the wood floor where her midsection had been a only half a second previously. As he struggled to pry it free of the cellulose, she took her chance, plunged an awl into the back of his neck.

_A little mischievous, remain devious._

            The front door torn open, she made her escape, barely getting out of the way in time to avoid another hit from the now-freed blade. Her steps danced lightly across the lawn, and she leapt, almost, but not quite cleared the white picket fence, crashed into the top, ripped her stomach open instead. She turned, just as he was upon her, and swung herself backward, not fast enough, the tip of his weapon left a thin line across her breastbone.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            She'd no room left.

_Oh, and you're a bad influence._

            He'd her right where he wanted her.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            He drew in close, raised the twisted razor edge, and drove it into her heart, slowly, painstakingly, enjoyed every single second of it. Rust erupted from her mouth, butterflies bubbled free, but so focused he was on these details, he failed to take note of the weak movement of her arm until he felt it resting across his back. Her fingers gripped the handle of the awl, gave a hard shove, drove the tool deep, sharp force trauma to the occipital lobe.

_You're a bad influence._

            She fell.  
            He collapsed atop her.

_Keep me a heartbeat shy of an ambulance._

            The two grew still. Silence resumed once more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> my favorite part was when she disemboweled herself on the fence.


End file.
